I'm being chased, can't breathe, and it isn't my fault. Objectively, though, I may, potentially, be the one at blame here. Of course, this is one in the morning on a warm autumn night; what you do, have done, or plan to accomplish at the time doesn't count against you. Ever. Well, unless you go to jail, but that's completely different. People judge you because of jail.
I wouldn’t be able to bear those judging looks from everyone in court, or as the guardsmen would drag you back to your cell. Good thing I don't ever have to worry about that.
It's only because I was rude to the "rebels", or at least that's what they call themselves. In my opinion, it's just a fancy word for being poor, then people wouldn't judge them as much as they already do. They live in a rusty shelter!
Before you think I'm a horrible person, just know it isn't about being lower-class, per se, it's about lacking opportunities. If somebody doesn't even have enough cash on them to become adapted and start new-life on Mars, you can believe me when I say they're completely useless.
That's why I get on their nerves. Not because I don't like them, I just think they're a waste of space. Ha! Space. Get it?
The only problem is I might have to dial it down, since I'm so close to fully adapting. Only three weeks until I'm done! I squeal audibly thinking about this, only to remember I’ve been running for the past ten minutes and breaking into a breathy cough. The only downside of the transformation is that it makes it really hard to breathe, really hard to move in general.
Tripping over my own feet, I realize today is my lucky day. I come across this stunning platinum blue Porsche with almost half the windowopen. I can just slide right in and stick a bobby pin in the key hole. I'll get home about an hour before I usually do and wouldn't be so out of breath.
I struggle climbing the passengers’ side door, leaving grime all over the handle. I scoot over to the driver’s and begin fiddling with the golden pin I pulled from my over my ear. They never seem to fully match my shade of hair.
"Hey! You in the blue Porsche," one of them calls out, "I hope you crash and burn!"
At first, I'm baffled by whatever they thought that "insult" was, still fussing about the pin, until they begin throwing stones. The realization that I might die tonight strikes me more brutally than the rocks pound against the Porsche. And, trust me, the car is nearly giving in.
I step on the engine as hard as I can, having to lean forward to put my full weight on it. I watch the speedometer rise, feeling my shirt grip to the car seat with sweat and my hair flying back from the wind and speed. The few lights flashing through insomniac’s windows become a blur.
Once more I stomp on the engine with all my strength, before checking to see the gas is almost empty. With my house in sight, I barely have time to brake the car. I look in the rear-side view mirror, and see that, of course, I've already lost them.
I brake the car and, barely before it comes to a full halt unlock the car door and stumble out of the car, tripping on the cement along the way. I move towards my house. The car. I look around, in the hopes of finding some tape and something heavy. On the doors of the backseat, I find a book: “Beginner’s Guide to Acrobacy”. For a beginner’s guide, it’s just about the weight of my hand. On the same door, an elastic. This will have to do.
Carefully, I put the car in neutral and tie the book to the gas, making sure there’s enough pressure on it to get it running smoothly. Looking over my shoulder to make sure they haven’t caught up, I roll down the window and lock the door from the inside. Sticking my hand into the revving engine, I take the car out of neutral and quickly get rid of my arm, the glass irritating my skin in the process.
Instantly, I realize my mistake. I'm not allowed home while my mom is with her business partners, but the chase was more intense than I thought it would be. I don’t even have the car anymore! Not thinking about it twice, dizzy with a scraped knee and hurt arm, I founder to open the back door to my house.
I try to make no noise as I come in, but completely collapse near the hollow part of our staircase. I crawl underneath the staircase and begin to take deep breaths through my nose to try and remain uncaught.
For a moment I try to resist the temptation to eavesdrop, but quickly remember I adore listening in. Within a few seconds of pondering, I begin to pay close attention to what the scientists are saying.
"But are you positive no one would discover?" a feminine male's voice asks.
"For the last time, Dr. Caleb," a masculine, strict female's voice barks. "The plan is already in session. There is nothing we can do about it, even if there is a chance someone would discover. It's the subject's own fault for not reading the legal agreement closely enough."
Paper ruffles, and I wonder what they may be doing. "Just look! Clear as glass! Those are all of the chemicals we put into the pills and vaccines, and no one even bothered reading and looking into them."
"Mrs. Dimitri, I agree with Dr. Caleb. This is murder. My daughter's side effects are still not fatal, so I assume nobody else's are either. Isn't there anything we can do to reverse this?" a familiar, comforting female interrupts.
Papers slam down violently on the glass table, producing a soft echo. "If you care more about your daughter than the rest of the world, Mrs. Wright-" I freeze. That's my mother's last name.
I'm unable to concentrate on sounding out mumbled voices anymore, and begin to focus on my breathing. Oh, how I'll miss breathing, eating, drinking water; just being alive in general. All those wonders have simply been ripped away from me in two minutes, being chased by some poor people, hidden under a staircase, and with a scraped knee.
I have to focus, though. Perhaps this is all just a big misunderstanding, or possibly a practical joke. The more I think about it, the more it begins to make sense. I'm sure my mom loves me, otherwise she would have abandoned me a long time ago. She's the head scientist at the age of 29; imagine how much more she could have accomplished without me around.
Plus, she's never been against the idea of me joining the Mars Experience. Not to mention, I was definitely clamorous as I arrived. I kept panting and running into walls. I'm sure they heard me. I decide to listen in again, only more closely.
"Well, I agree with all of you to some degree," a croaky voice with a heavy accent speaks calmly. "Of course, there is a risk of us being caught, there is always a risk of anyone being caught; even for something one did not do," followed by a long pause and a clearing of the throat.
"And, well, it is murder. But what else can we do?" the strange voice asks rhetorically, and establishes their dominance by taking yet another long, uninterrupted pause.
"Besides, what Mrs. Dimitri is saying is all true. It would take us a lot of money, money we do not have, to get everyone back to their original health. Also, by the time people would believe us and not think it is yet another rumor spread by the media, it would be too late for most of them anyway. And, finally, everyone did sign a contract and it did state, in the last page, section 75.9 'We at TTSICA and The Mars Experience Headquarters ask that you please insure that the succeeding chemicals will not impair your health.' Then, after that, the chemicals. All of the chemicals we put in, Mrs. Wright and Dr. Caleb. I see no logical reason why we shouldn't continue this procedure."
Silence floods through the room, the air thickening. My lips quake, for it's clearly settled. Heavy-accented, croaky voice-d person made a completely sound argument. There really is no reason why they shouldn't continue that procedure. In some weird way, the rebels turned out smarter than the higher-class. I feel so ashamed, not only because I have just proven to be more dim-witted than the poor, but because this really was all my fault. I took my own life out of carelessness and curiosity. My mom, my dear, lovely mother whom I will miss so much, warned me about reading the contract very carefully. I slack to make it easier to re-envision her exact words.
"I can't stop you. I am the head scientist and it would be against company guidelines to prevent you from doing this. I can't read or explain the contract to you-" her comforting, warm voice had cracked at that moment, now I finally understand why. "Read the entire contract front and back. Carefully. Look out for any small print, and read that too."
She took a deep breath. "Use a magnifying lens if you need. This is the most important part, Athena. Look at me," I had barely looked at her, lacking interest, while she was about to burst into tears.
Looking back, I realize I’m such a terrible daughter. She was so upset, and I didn't even care enough to look up from my phone when she was talking to me. "Even if it seems pointless, please, I beg of you," she turned away. "Search up any words you do not understand."
She turned back towards me and grabbed my hand, slapping my phone on the couch. "Do you hear me? Any words, Athena. Whether it's to sign off on chemical allergies or a big, fancy word like outlandish, I want you to search it up.”
She softened and let go of me, and I immediately lost focus again, rolling my eyes. “I can buy you as many dictionaries or search engines as you need. All I'm asking you to do is look closely at each individual word. Don't worry about the due date, I can hold off collecting for you. Please," she repeated this particular word quite a few times."Look up all words you are not 100% sure about."
My heart drops as I reminisce what I answered.
"Ok," I said, uninterested, looking back down at my phone. My mom walked off sniffling, but I just assumed she had a cold.
Maybe I deserve to be killed, the world doesn't need me. I'm just a useless guinea pig that will fall right in line whenever presented the words: revolution, experience, famous, or money.
I try to fight back my tears, but the waterworks come tumbling down.
After sobbing for I don't know how long, I notice the meeting is still going on; the perfect opportunity for me to consider my options. The best thing to do, of course, would be to notify everyone, post on the internet, and really fight the system. They'll have to fix us if we can get a revolution started.
However, thinking about it more thoroughly, their plan is well thought-out, these scientists know what they're doing. They've already weakened everyone, giving them shrill bones and no endurance, no chance of survival. Cowardice is fighting someone who's weak, but a strategy is weakening someone before a fight. Even though they're still being cowards, they're being smart cowards at least.
I nearly punch the wall in rage. I am hiding from people that, at this exact moment, are both making casual conversation about taking my life and actually taking my life at the same time. This would be the equivalent of somebody purposely choking you underneath a table, while having a sip of tea and discussing politics with their partners. It would be humiliating to have someone commit your murder so easily and flawlessly, you wouldn't even feel "special" enough.
Of course, I'm not saying you should go out and get murdered by someone who will put all their attention on you in the process of taking your life. What I am saying is, that if someone were to murder you, wouldn't you be the slightest bit offended if they did it casually? It wouldn't even be an important life that would be taken, it would just be yours.
Though, I still need to figure out a plan that is more well-thought out than the eight brilliant scientists' plan, can be executed in less time than the eight brilliant scientists' plan, and done without my mom or the other seven brilliant scientists finding out.
I spring up and hit my head on the tough wooden staircase when I realize the scientists are leaving. I pray with all my might that they will use the front door, the one that is farthest from the staircase.
I remember my mom once said that any intruders of their meetings were considered spies, and in for a trial that would almost always end in execution. Now I'm realizing their very extreme rule was probably just to cut out the middleman of getting everyone to sign the contract.
Just thinking about this makes me furious enough to bite my tongue so I don't bawl, Why not join the Mars Experience yourself, Dumb-mitri? If I stood close enough to your head, I could hear the ocean! Of course, I'd be electrocuted under rule of law if I said that, and my last insult can't be a pun. If it were, it would need to be a good pun at least.
I clear my head and hear my mom wish one last goodbye, then sigh on the couch. I first peek out to ensure I hadn't been discovered when I first came in and was about to be taken to court. I crawl out the door as sneakily as I possibly can, then barge back in to let my mom know I'm on to her.
"Hey mom, I'm home! Missed you all day," I gleefully shout, trying to contain my rage.
My mom, still tired from the meeting, is silent and guilt strikes. But instead of coming clean to me, she stands up from the couch to match my tone. "Hi, lovely! Missed you too! Now what's this all about?" Kudos to Mrs. Wright for not breaking down this early, although I can already tell her voice is seasoned with a hint of sadness and regret.
"So, mom," I say as I spin in a circle around one of our wooden living room chairs. "Can you believe that in three weeks I won't see you again for a few years? Only a few years though. I will miss you so much on Mars and won't be able to wait to come back to your loving arms and this beautiful house!" I project with false excitement.
Mrs. Wright, my mother, freezes at the spot. "You spied on the meeting, didn't you?" she asks, but I don't think she wants an answer. "Didn't you?!" this time, she shrieks the question at me with such intensity and so close to my face that my hair is gently blown back.
"You didn't tell me!" I cry without a second's hesitation, bursting into tears.
"Don't try to turn this around on me, you know you're not supposed to spy on our meetings! That almost always ends in execution!" my mom barks. I can tell she's desperately trying to change the subject. Maybe ending things in a fight will ease the pain of leaving.
"You poisoned your own daughter!" I reply, my face red and covered in briny tears. She collapses on the couch and I'm afraid I have gone too far.
"Go. Leave now."
"What... what? Are you kicking me out? Mom, please don't do this, mom, I need you, help me, help me please," I stutter. By this point, I have plummeted on the ground to my knees and am left sobbing for breath.
"I meant that if you can find a shelter," she informs while taking a backpack out of a hiding place in the kitchen counter I didn't even know existed. "A shelter on Earth, that resembles Mars in the climate, you might be able to survive. I can't make any promises, but you have to leave now, and without my help. We can't risk being seen working together."
"But-" I don't have time to argue before she is shoving the plain black backpack in between my hands. "You planned this, so long ago. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'm sorry, and I love you," Mrs. Wright declares while stroking her hand upon my cheek. "To have any chance of survival, leave now. You need as much time as possible and you've already lost a lot. Stay as low as possible. Don't let anyone know what you're up to. I trust you will find a way. Pretend you were still doing whatever it is you did during the meetings."
I hesitate, then whisper, "Love you too, mom." I sling the backpack up on my right shoulder and look back only once, before reaching for the cold, smooth, metal doorknob and facing the fact I likely won't ever see her again.
While jogging for my life, I decide running at three A.M. isn't exactly the best way to remain inconspicuous. I choose to pace myself until I find the only place I know where no one will have any contact with the scientists, or at least most of the rich. I stop to take a deep breath and stare up at the loud, red, illuminated, rusty sign on top of a short building. "The Homeless Shelter," it reads.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
